Night of the Scarecrow
by Twinings
Summary: The Scarecrow without his fear is nothing, Jonathan. You know that better than anyone.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or the Scarecrow.

This is part three of my Scarecrow trilogy. Part one was "A Savage Pantsing," written for a friend of mine. That should have been the end of it. But then the sequel demons got me, and I wrote "Scarecrow's Revenge." Then I felt so bad, and my Al gave me such dirty looks, I decided to write another sequel. A happy one, in which everything get all better.

It didn't work. I felt sick the entire time I was writing this. Somebody give me a hug.

* * *

Night of the Scarecrow

Early morning, Gotham City. December. On a rooftop in a part of town that the cops don't patrol—which could mean almost anything, really—are two figures playing out a scene as fitted to Gotham as the Batsignal shining against the night sky.

One is the Scarecrow. The other is the Scarecrow's victim.

This victim is a man in his thirties, painfully thin and shivering in the cold. He is completely naked except for a strange sort of bracelet on his right wrist. He is hanging from a flagpole, tied so that his right arm is crossed over his chest. His left arm, broken, hangs useless at his side.

The Scarecrow moves toward him.

"No!" he says in a hoarse whisper. This is as loud as he can talk. Spreading across his throat is a nasty purple bruise the exact size and shape of Batman's right hand. What voice he had left after being throttled nearly to death has been destroyed by the hours and hours of screaming.

The Scarecrow touches the thing on the man's wrist, and it shoots a cloud of vapor into his face. Coughing, he thrashes wildly, desperate to make an escape that he knows is not possible. He has broken ribs. He has also been stabbed deeply in the gut. He can only hurt himself further with all this movement, and when he does, he, Jonathan Crane, former college professor, former hospital director, former Scarecrow, will die.

--

There is no more fear toxin. The Scarecrow has used it all on Dr. Crane, giving him a fresh dose every time he stopped struggling, whether because his panic was dying down, or simply because he was exhausted and in too much pain to fight.

There is no fight left in him now. He simply hangs there, weeping helplessly.

The Scarecrow walks down the stairs, humming a little tune. She has considered herself the Scarecrow for seven hours now. Six of those have been spent killing Dr. Crane.

His death may come in any number of ways. Because the cold is his most likely killer, she has draped his coat around him, unwilling to let his suffering end any sooner than it has to. If the place where she rammed her switchblade into his stomach doesn't stop bleeding soon, he could bleed out. Maybe shock will claim him. Maybe it already has.

What she really wants is for him to stay up there for a few days, slowly dehydrating.

But the human body and mind have limits to what they can withstand, and he has reached those limits. It will be a miracle if he is still alive by the end of the day.

Honestly, the Scarecrow isn't sure he'll still be there when she gets out of the shower.

At the bottom of the stairs, she meets one of her Boys. He cries out in fear when he sees her.

"Hi, Jerry," she says distractedly. The mask distorts her voice. She pulls it off and hands it to him. "See if you can get the blood out of this."

"Oh, Little Al. Where you been, boss? We was getting worried."

"I'm the Scarecrow," she says, trying out the word. She likes it. "I'm going to take a shower. There's a man on the roof. If he's still alive when I get done, have Doc patch him up; if not, bring me the thing on his wrist and toss his body in the river."

There is only one thing the Scarecrow needs that she cannot get for herself.

Jonathan can do her one last favor. He can teach her how to make his fear toxin, or he can drop dead. Either one will please her.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan woke up, sweating, in the wee hours. He had not been sleeping well these past few months. He was probably the last person on Earth who deserved a good night's sleep, and he knew it, but the nightmares…constant…every time he fell asleep, he felt it again. His own death. He had not been able to sleep more than an hour at a time since the day he had woken up in the makeshift hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and in tremendous pain, wondering why death had not come.

The Scarecrow had not saved him out of the goodness of her heart.

Scarecrow. He could no longer apply the name to himself. He was not the Master of Fear. He was…nothing.

The darkness in his room felt alive, reaching for him with spidery fingers. He felt himself on the verge of a panic attack, and reached over to turn on the light, wincing as he stretched sore muscles that had stiffened during the night. He was not healing any better than he was sleeping.

Harsh electric light filled the room. It was Spartan: bed, table, lamp, wheelchair, and a book of poetry. No window. The door could not be opened from the inside.

He picked up the book and put it on his chest where he could reach it easily. He had done the same thing as a child when he had been woken up by bad dreams, using the stories to banish the monsters from his mind. He couldn't read now. He was so tired, his eyes wouldn't even focus on the page. Besides, the monsters were real, now.

There was a tiny portion of his mind that was still able to recognize the book as a symbolic protection, much like a child's teddy bear. But the part of him that was in control picked up the book simply because its shape and weight would put an end to the panic.

He wouldn't sleep again, not so soon. Very softly, he began to recite from memory.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…"

As he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping on his chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," he muttered, "rapping at my chamber door. Only this, and nothing more."

The Scarecrow entered then, as if she had been waiting for his invitation, as if she actually knocked out of courtesy.

Even without the mask on, he always called her Scarecrow now, even in the privacy of his own mind. That was how well she had trained him.

She stood over him, looking down with disgust in her blue eyes.

"Ah, distinctly I remember," she said, doing a fair impersonation of Vincent Price. "It was in the bleak December." She snatched his book away. Instantly, the room seemed to shrink to half its size. Gasping, he sat up, reflexively trying to grab it back. Pain shot through his broken legs when he moved. "And each separate, dying ember wrought its ghost across the floor."

Her eyes were red-rimmed. She had, it seemed, been weeping for the lost Lenore.

She was going to kill him this time.

"Please," he begged. "Please don't. Not again."

"Shut up, Jonathan." Since the day she had captured him, she had never called him by anything but his first name. Not Scarecrow, not doctor, not professor. It was as if all his accomplishments had been undone.

And to think, the first time he had taken it as a sign of affection. He had believed that she was saving him from Batman. Fool.

What he wouldn't give for Batman to show up now.

"Please," he repeated. She glowered at him.

"I said shut your fucking face." She dropped the book on his left leg, just below the knee.

He heard himself scream as the white lights exploded behind his eyes.

A second later, he felt her slapping him awake. He had broken into a cold sweat, his hair matted to the pillow. Pain rolled over him in waves.

"Oh, please." He couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. "Please, just stop."

"Do you think I should go easy on you just because you asked so nice?" she demanded. "Did the so-called magic words ever once work on you?"

_I never did this,_ he told himself. He had never kept them alive and aware this long.

"I'll do whatever you want. You know I will."

"Yes, I know you will. But I want you to have the right attitude when you do it." She put her hand on the book on his leg and applied a little pressure. He gritted his teeth against the pain, feeling the ends of the bone grinding against each other. "Can you do that?"

"Yes! Yes! Please, Scarecrow! Please, I'll do anything you say! Anything," he babbled.

"Then weep. Beg me to end your pathetic life. Know that you will never be rescued, because no one cares what I do to you. You are not missed. You are not loved. If I dumped your mangled corpse in Jim Gordon's office and signed my name in your blood, the police would not come after me. Batman might come here if I piss him off, but he would never come to save you. No one will ever come for you. You will stay here until you die, and if I have my way, even that won't end your pain."

She eased her weight off his leg. He was drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. The tears ran freely. There was darkness around the edges of his vision, narrowing the world to a point that included nothing more than the Scarecrow's face.

So he heard, but did not see, her open Lucky.

"Don't…"

She placed the tip of the switchblade briefly against the palm of his left hand.

"I could cut off your fingers and send them to the police, one each day, and then move on to other things." The blade nicked his earlobe. He closed his eyes. "How many body parts do you think you would have left when they finally got around to looking for you?" He didn't answer. "How many, Jonathan?" she repeated, putting the tip of her knife to the hollow of his throat.

"One." His breath came in frantic, shallow pants.

"Really? You think so? Which one?"

"The part…you hadn't…cut yet." That seemed to amuse her. She laughed and took Lucky away from his throat.

"How about if I carved a ransom note in your chest? Do you think I would ever see the money?" She ripped open his shirt, and he flinched, wondering how many words she could do before he blacked out.

He had never been strong or healthy. Now his ribs stuck out as if they were trying to escape his skin. Breathing looked like too much exertion for his fragile body. His entire left side was a mass of bruises.

The Scarecrow closed her knife and put her hand to a greenish spot amid the purple and blue. He flinched again, although her touch now was oddly gentle.

"Oh, Jonathan, why didn't you tell me my boys had been beating you up again? If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times, they have to ask before they touch my stuff. First the toilet paper, and now this. Who was it? Tom again? Oh, never mind. I'll find out from the boys. Listen, Jonathan, you're going to make me a new batch of toxin tomorrow. I want it fast-acting this time. None of that 'slow descent into madness' noise. I'll save that for when I have him here."

"Who?"

"Rupert Thorne, not that it's any of your business, Mr. Nosy. His little gang is getting too powerful for the rest of us, so Stromwell and Falcone are paying me to take him out. I was actually going to do it anyway, but they don't have to know that."

"Why do you need me?"

"You make the toxin. What's the Scarecrow without his fear?"

"I'll teach you to make it yourself."

"What's the Scarecrow without his fear, Jonathan?"

"It's easy. You won't need me anymore."

"The Scarecrow without his fear is nothing. You know that better than anyone. And I like you better this way." She turned off the light and moved it just out of his reach, leaving him, shuddering, in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan was just dozing off again when the Boys came for him in the morning. Without speaking, they picked him up and dumped him, none too gently, in the chair. One of them thrust his glasses into his hand. They had been broken twice and poorly mended with scotch tape. He tried to put them on. They slipped out of his fingers. One of the Boys made a sound of disgust and did it for him.

He could have destroyed them so easily once. A few whispered words, subtle reminders of half-forgotten shreds of memory, and he could have had them lying broken on the floor.

But he was so tired. He hurt all the time. Even holding his head up was an effort, hardly worth it.

They wheeled him down the hall to the lab, jerking the chair over every bump in the concrete floor.

At first, he hadn't understood why they all hated him so much. The Scarecrow, of course, hated him for what he had done to her and her friend. He could understand her need for vengeance. But Emily had no connection to this gang, and the Scarecrow was just their boss. None of his hired help would have lifted a finger for him once the money stopped coming.

But these men, her Boys, loved her. Some of them had worked for her father since before she was born. Many of them were family. All of them, without exception, loved her. It was a feeling he had never known.

The lab was a familiar place, more like home than any other place he could remember. They left him at his workstation with the chemicals spread out in easy reach.

Creating the toxin was child's play. He picked up the first ingredient, held it up to the light…blinked slowly…his mind felt so fuzzy…the light shining through the glass was almost hypnotic…

He jerked awake when the vial slipped out of his hand and shattered on the table. He stared down at the shards of glass in the pool of red liquid, so harmless on its own.

"What happened?" one of the Boys demanded, running back into the room. Jonathan looked up slowly. "Oh, you asshole." The Boy smacked him in the back of the head and started cleaning up the mess.

Jonathan could only watch.

_Lost…_

--

He slept for a few minutes in the chair and woke again, stiff and uncomfortable, to finish the toxin. Then he slept again with his head pillowed on his arm.

He feared the coming of the nightmares, but he was too tired to hold his eyes open any longer.

Just a few minutes. Maybe he wouldn't dream.

He woke up screaming. The Scarecrow and a dozen of her Boys were standing in a circle around him.

"Glad you could join us, Jonathan," the Scarecrow said dryly. "As I was saying, I don't want you boys messing with my things without permission. For example, I built a gym here so you would have plenty of punching bags to work with. _This_ one is mine. If you can't keep your hands off my personal property—I'm looking at you, Tom—I'll test the next batch on you. That said…" As one, the Boys put on their gas masks. Realizing that he was her only captive, Jonathan shrank down in his chair.

"No—please—you don't have to test it—I haven't cheated you—I've _never_ cheated you—"

Two of the Boys moved forward to grab his arms. The Scarecrow picked up a sample of the toxin at random and held it out toward him.

--

Usually, she tested the toxin on low-level thugs who belonged to her enemies. When she didn't have any of those handy, she used Jonathan.

She watched him carefully to make sure the gas had exactly the effects she wanted. It always did.

When he finally passed out, she left him, well pleased.

--

Jonathan woke some time later, back in his room, his throat sore from screaming. He must have unnerved someone. They had left his light on.

His arms were bloody above the elbows. He realized he had torn them open with his own fingernails.

Fumbling, he reached for his glasses on the table next to him.

"I can't," he moaned. _I can't take this anymore._ He popped out one of the lenses and smashed it against the edge of the table. It didn't break. He had no strength left. Weeping and cursing, he brought the lens down again. This time it broke, leaving him with a sharp piece of glass.

He had been careless with Emily Burke, and she had discovered the only possible way to escape the Scarecrow.

Now he could follow her example.

He pressed the glass against his left wrist.

Hesitated.

He was afraid to die.

But could it really be any worse than this?

Pressing as hard as he could, he ran the glass down the path of the vein. Blood came pouring out of him like a fountain. He dropped the glass, momentarily frozen by the pain. Then he tried to pick it up with his left hand to finish the job. Hot blood poured over his fingers. He couldn't grip it.

"Come on…"

The door opened.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the voice of a young girl. "I didn't…" She saw what he was doing, and screamed.

That was the last thing he heard. _It's good to go out on a high note..._

--


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan opened his eyes and realized he had failed.

"No…"

His wrist and arms were wrapped in white gauze. He felt better than he had in months, and he had slept for hours without dreaming. He was alive.

Damn.

He flinched when a hand appeared from out of nowhere to brush his hair back from his forehead.

"Don't be scared," said the voice of the young girl. She leaned over into his field of vision.

She looked about thirteen, although he couldn't see her very clearly without his glasses. She wore black lipstick and heavy eyeliner, which looked as if it had been smudged by tears, and her hair was short, spiky, and as green as the Joker's. This strange little person looked down at him with an expression that he took for pity.

"My name's Lexy," she said. "Who are you?"

"My…name is Jonathan."

"Jonathan…" She ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. "Don't worry, Jonathan. Everything's going to be all right."

"Why?" he whispered. "Why am I still here?" He felt tears running down his face again. "Why couldn't I just die?"

The girl, Lexy, threw her arms around him.

"Don't say that! Whatever's wrong, it can't be that bad, can it?" He groaned in pain as she unwittingly put pressure on his bruised ribs, although the pain felt oddly distant…muffled. Instantly, she pulled away. "I'm so sorry! Oh, it must have been terrible for you. Your accident, I mean."

"No accident," he mumbled.

"What? But, your legs are broken! You didn't do that to yourself." She looked horrified.

"Scarecrow." He closed his eyes, feeling a twinge of pain in each leg. "Didn't want me to escape." She had used a hammer.

"But…I thought you were one of Al's Boys."

Al.

The name reverberated in his mind.

Alice.

"Scarecrow," he whispered.

"Jonathan? You're kind of scaring me."

"Scare…"

Just then, the door slammed open. Jonathan cringed.

"Alexis Pauline Hare," the Scarecrow bellowed, "get away from him!" Young Lexy scrambled out of the way as the Scarecrow strode over to Jonathan, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and jerked him up off the bed. "You! I told you what would happen if you ever tried to escape me!" He tried to raise his hands to fend her off. It was like moving through molasses. "Alexis! You had him drugged, didn't you?"

"Morphine," Lexy said defiantly. "He needed it." Disgusted, the Scarecrow let him fall back on the pillow.

"Look, I'm glad to see you finally taking an interest in the business, but our supplies are limited. We need to save the painkillers for people who matter."

"People who matter? He's a person and he matters to me!"

"Go to your room, Alexis." She turned her attention back to Jonathan, scrutinizing the bandage on his wrist.

"Don't hurt him again, Al," Lexy begged. "It's just not right."

"Your sympathy for this sack of wasted flesh is extremely misplaced. Now, do as I say and go to your room."

"Al, please! You're scaring me. The Al I know would never act this way."

"Maybe not." She genuinely sounded sorry for a moment. "But the Scarecrow would."

--

"That child you met is, as of a few days ago, my closest living relative," the Scarecrow told him later, when the drugs were beginning to wear off. "Since I have no children of my own, I've made her my heir. I want you to understand that, Jonathan. Her heart may bleed for you, but she is _my_ child. She is not your guardian angel. And if I ever find out that you're been encouraging her to care for you…" She leaned in close to him. "The consequences will be dire."

--

"I hate you," Lexy sobbed into her pillow. She wasn't even sure who she was talking to.

Everything was going wrong. Her parents and her brother were dead. She had left her school and her friends to live in a criminal hideout. And now her favorite cousin was torturing a helpless man in her basement.

When had the world decided to go insane?

"Alexis?"

"Lexy," she corrected. She felt Al's weight settle on the bed.

"Your name is Alexis."

"No, it isn't! I am _not_ the next Al!" She sat up to look her cousin in the eyes. "I do not want to be like you." Al looked stricken.

"You don't know what you're saying. You'll understand when you're older."

"I don't want to understand! You're _killing_ him!"

"Alexis…Lexy…that is not an innocent man." She reached out to put her arms around her cousin. There was blood on her hands.

"Don't touch me!"

"Lexy…"

"You stay away!"

"Alexis, just listen to me. He—" Lexy put her hands over her ears, shut her eyes, and started singing at the top of her lungs.

"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, Mary had a little lamb—"

"Alexis," Al said in her Scarecrow voice. Lexy fell silent. "I didn't mean for you to meet him. I thought you might react this way. But I need you to believe me when I tell you that everything I've done to him, I've done for a reason."

"How can you say that?" Lexy asked, wiping tears from her eyes. "He's in so much pain, Al. No one should ever be hurt like that, not for any reason." Al looked away.

"You're right," she said, almost to herself. "Only the most evil soul could set out to destroy another human being that way."

"Al?"

"You can't let a pretty face and big, sad eyes fool you. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. He's a very pretty monster. He is evil."

"He's dying!"

"He killed—" She took a slow breath. "You don't know him, Lexy. I do. Stay away from him. Trust me. For your own good, forget what you saw today."

"I can't. Al. It's not right." She wiped her eyes again. "Please, just go away. Go...wash your hands."


	5. Chapter 5

The dark was absolute. The only sound was Jonathan's own harsh, ragged breathing rushing through his mouth. His nose was bloody, his left eye swollen shut. His face was probably one mottled bruise. Not that he would know.

He felt he would never see the light again.

The lamp was maddeningly close. He could have reached it if his hands had not been tied down.

For his own safety.

He couldn't stop fighting his restraints. Logic told him that there was nothing in the dark. Logic could not drown out the whispers or brush away the feeling of ghostly fingers floating just above his body.

He could not conquer his fear. A part of him felt disgusted with himself. The rest of him was busy.

When the door opened, he totally panicked.

Not again, not again, not again…

He struggled silently as the door closed behind her.

Not again, not again…

"Jonathan? Are you awake?"

Lexy? He froze. Not Scarecrow. Lexy. But he had been warned.

"Go away," he said weakly.

"I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

"Go away!"

"Okay," she said, sounding hurt. A moment later, she stumbled over something in the dark. "Ow! Can I turn on the light for a minute?" He didn't answer. Stumbling blindly in the dark, she found the table by walking into it. A rattle, a click, and light flooded the room.

The child was standing there, balanced on one foot, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, looking down at him as if she wanted to cry. He turned his face away.

"Jonathan! She hurt you _again_?" She reached for his hand and noticed the thick ropes tying him down. "What's this?"

"Nothing. Leave it."

"But—"

"Just go!"

She turned away.

"Um…" The silence dragged on. He looked up at her. "There's no doorknob."

"It only opens from the outside," he sighed.

"Then I guess you're stuck with me." She plopped herself down in his wheelchair and moved back to his bedside, giggling as she rolled across the floor. She was so…exuberant. Naïve. Childish. He couldn't look at her. "So…you like poetry?" She picked up his book. "Edgar Allen Poe, huh? I read one of his stories in English. Everybody thought it was so gross the way the guy's heart was still beating after he died, but I liked the part about the old man's eye. It really creeped me out." He filed the information away in his memory even as he tried to block out the sound of her voice. "Have you ever read that story?"

"Yes." It had been one of the very elements in the creation of the Scarecrow, a perfect lesson on the power of fear. He had loved it, once.

"I never thought I would miss going to school, but I do. But Al says I don't need it anymore."

Scarecrow. He closed his eyes.

"Um…are you tired? I can turn the light off if—"

"No!" he said desperately, his eyes flying open. Lexy smiled reassuringly and took his hand in hers.

"Don't be scared. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

"Promise?" he repeated. What promise could a child keep?

"Yes, I promise. You can go to sleep. You're safe."

"There is no safety from nightmares."

But to shut her up, he closed his eyes.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word." The sound of her singing startled him into opening his eyes. She smiled down at him, squeezing his hand. "Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird." Her voice was untrained, but sweet. Soothing. "And if that mockingbird don't sing, mama's going to buy you a diamond ring." Her hands were warm as she gently stroked his arm. He closed his eyes again, still feeling uneasy. "And if that diamond ring don't shine, mama's going to buy you a bottle of wine." Against his will, he felt his muscles beginning to relax. His hands unclenched from their fists. "And if that bottle of wine gets cracked, mama's going to buy you a Cadillac." For the first time, he realized how bone-tired he really was. "And if that Cadillac don't run, mama's going to buy you a BB gun." He was going to fall asleep, and soon. He was too tired to fight it. "And if that BB gun don't shoot, mama's going to buy you a bathing suit." The nightmares… "And if that bathing suit don't fit, mama's going to say, 'I quit.'"

--

Lexy kept singing to him long after he fell asleep. She sang every lullaby her mother had ever sung to her, and then she made up a few of her own. Once or twice, his brow furrowed and he twitched as if trying to run or fight. Then she stroked his hair until he relaxed into an easier sleep.

He reminded her so much of her older brother, who had been dreaming in a hospital bed the last time she had seen him.

"Nothing's going to hurt you," she whispered in his ear. "I promise."

--

It was impossible to tell the time, but Jonathan knew he had woken on his own, and not because of a nightmare. He felt…something he couldn't put a name to. Alert? Awake? That couldn't be, not unless he'd actually managed to sleep for more than a couple of hours.

He looked down and saw Lexy, still in his chair, slumped over with her head and shoulders on the bed, one hand still holding his. That couldn't be comfortable for her.

He would have woken her, but the door banged open just then.

"Wakey, wakey," said the Boy in the doorway. Tom, the moustached one, the one with the heaviest hand. Jonathan cringed.

Lexy sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Morning, Tom."

"Princess? What are you doing in here?"

"Don't call me that. I accidentally locked myself in. What are you doing here?"

"Breakfast duty," he said with a shrug.

"Oh, so you do feed him sometimes. The way he looks, I wasn't quite sure."

"Well, we don't want to kill him," Tom said uncomfortably. "Corpses aren't much use when you've got a job to do."

"Fine. If you don't want him to die, then get him something to eat. And bring me something, too, please."

"You can't stay here," he said, scowling.

"Why?"

"Because the boss won't like it!"

"Well, she's not the boss of me. Besides, if you want me to leave, you'll have to drag me out kicking and screaming. How much do you think she'll like that?" He glared at her. She glared back. "Well?"

"Well…fine, but she isn't going to be happy. What do you want to eat, you rotten kid?" He said it affectionately.

"I'll have whatever he's having."

"I don't think…"

"You heard what I said, Tom. I mean it. Go."

Tom left. Lexy sat down again, taking Jonathan's hand.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Why would you care?" She looked hurt.

"I just do, that's all. Can I help it if I'm a halfway decent person?"

"No…just naïve."

"Oh, I get it. You think Al is right." He flinched. "You think you're such a bad person, you deserve to be treated like this. Well, you don't! No matter what mistakes you've made, you're still a person. Everybody deserves to be treated like a human being. At least, that's what my dad used to say." Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Your father…He's dead?" She nodded.

"It's all because of this stupid crime business. I hate it! I never wanted to be part of this. I can't hurt people. I hate seeing my friends die for no good reason. I hate the way Al's changed, and I hate what she's doing to you! I mean, what could you possibly have done to deserve this?"

"Enough."

The door opened. Tom was back with breakfast. Lexy wrinkled her nose.

"What's _that_?"

"Tomato soup."

"I can see that. What's with the straw?"

"Well, it's not like this guy can use a spoon." Lexy folded her arms huffily across her chest.

"So untie him, duh."

"It's not that. He gets the shakes. Try to give him a spoon and he'll just drop it."

"Oh. Well, I still think you should untie him. I mean, look at him. What's he going to do, beat us up and try to make a run for it?"

She didn't mean it insultingly. Still, her words were a painful reminder that he was, without a doubt, in the worst condition of his life. Even the scrawny boy who had attracted bullies the way garbage attracts flies would have looked like a Greek god next to what he was now.

"You know I can't. Now, move."

"No. I'll feed him. I'll do everything. You go away."

"Lexy…"

"Look, Tom, I know you're Al's loyal follower and all, and I'm sure when I'm the boss I'll be glad to have guys like you working for me. But for now, I just want you to go away. I'm not budging for anyone, not even my cousin. So you go away."

"Be careful," he warned. "And maybe sometime you should ask your cousin what her reasons are. She does have reasons, you know."

He left them alone.

"Well, that was easy," Lexy said. She took a closer look at the tray of food Tom had left. For him, a mug of soup with a straw in it. For her, a bowl, a spoon, and a glass of milk. She frowned. "_Can_ you use a spoon?"

"No," he said reluctantly. She examined the knots around his wrists.

"I don't think I could get these off, anyway. Oh, well. I'll help you." She slid her arm under his shoulders and eased him into a sitting position. He could hardly support his own weight, so she let him lean against her. She sang to him as she fed him, first his breakfast, then hers.

It was a new kind of humiliation to be treated so gently.

And a new fear. For every kindness she showed him, he imagined the punishment to come.

She helped him with the bedpan. She demanded a toothbrush and brushed his teeth. She did a dozen other small things that he could no longer do for himself.

How had he fallen so far?


	6. Chapter 6

Lexy ran her fingers through Jonathan's hair, combing out the tangles. It needed a wash and a trim, just like the rest of him. Someone had shaved him, indifferently. She would do better if she could get her hands on a razor. Getting him a shower wasn't going to be easy, but she would find a way. He desperately needed fresh sheets and clean clothes—his were covered in dried blood and other stains she didn't recognize.

He felt so small in her arms, so frail and weak. She wanted to hold him and never let go.

But when her assisting arm tightened around him in a hug, he stiffened and tried to pull away. She laid him back down on the pillow.

"You don't have to be afraid," she said. "You can trust me."

"Trust?" he repeated. "I don't do trust."

"But haven't you ever had anyone to take care of you?" He looked away.

"Better not to rely on anyone," he said. "Safer to be alone."

"But you're not alone," she said, taking his hand. "I'm here, and I'm going to stay with you."

"Why? Are you a sucker for a wounded puppy?" he said angrily. She frowned, confused.

"Jonathan, I just want to be your friend."

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared, okay?" She burst into tears. "Nothing is the way it's supposed to be, and I'm scared, and I just want to help!"

He watched her cry with her hands over her face, saying nothing, making no move to comfort her, just waiting for her to calm herself.

"You can't save me," he said after a while. "If you want to help someone, help yourself. Go upstairs, go back to your life, and keep your trust to yourself."

Lexy looked at the door, left propped open by Tom. She looked at Jonathan, battered and beaten, his enormous blue eyes seeming to plead with her to protect him.

"Do you really want me to leave?"

He closed his eyes.

"Yes."

"And you don't want my help at all?"

"No."

"Well…goodbye, then."

He didn't respond.

She left.

--

Lexy flung open her cousin's bedroom door, interrupting a conversation between Al and Tom.

"Tom, go away," she demanded.

"Go on," Al said. Tom slipped out of the room. "Lexy, sit down."

"Al, I want to know—"

"I said sit down." Lexy sat on her cousin's bed. "Tom says you spent the night with him. Is that true?"

"Of course it is. I wanted to take care of him. It's not like anybody else would."

"And the poor guy just looked so sad and pathetic, you had to come up here to find out what makes me and the Boys so mean to him." Lexy nodded. "His name is Jonathan Crane. I'm sure you've heard of him. Up until last December, he was the Scarecrow."

"But I thought you were the Scarecrow."

"Keep up, shorty. I'm new to this gig. He's been doing this since you were nothing but an ankle biter. He invented the fear toxin I've been using. He used to test it on his patients when he was the director of Arkham Asylum. You understand that, Lexy? Innocent people with no understanding of what was happening to them and no possible hope of escape."

"Innocent people? Isn't Arkham a prison for the criminally insane?"

"It is now. Ten years ago, it was an ordinary psychiatric hospital. My best friend's mother was a patient there until Dr. Crane killed her." Lexy's eyes widened. "Emily, my friend, worked at the hospital when I first met her. I was Dr. Crane's newest intern. The two of us figured out that he was up to something. We decided to investigate. Then…"

"Then _what_?"

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"Tell me!"

"All right, fine. He caught us. We didn't want to get killed, so we fought back. Things…well, we took it farther than we meant to. Way farther. My fault, but Jonathan didn't see it that way. He had us both for a while. We escaped, but Emily was never really okay again. She thought he would come after her again, but he didn't. Not for nine years. All that time, I watched her hiding from the world, but she couldn't hide from him when he decided it was finally time to come back to us. He hurt me, but…what he did to her…" She was crying. Lexy stared. "He completely destroyed her mind. And then he killed her."

"How?" Lexy whispered.

"He left her with a knife. She cut her wrists."

"So did he."

"What?"

"Jonathan tried to kill himself by cutting his wrists, right? The same as your friend. So it evens out. You got your revenge. You don't have to hurt him anymore."

"No, Alexis. It doesn't work that way."

"But why?" Lexy demanded. "It balances! You can't get anything else out of him. It's just cruel to keep treating him like this."

"First of all, Alexis, he makes my fear toxin, so it's not like I'm not getting anything from him. Second of all, revenge is a vicious cycle. If I let him go, he'll just recover his strength and come after me again. Or, worse, he'll come after you."

"Why would he want to hurt me?"

"Because hurting you would hurt me. In case it's somehow escaped your notice, I didn't adopt you for the tax break. I love you, kid."

"I love you, too, Al. But…"

"Please, please don't let that sentence end with, 'but I love him, too.'" Lexy scowled. "You're only thirteen years old! Last week you were in love with Basil Karlo."

"Look, I never said I was in love with him. That's weird. He's, like, old. I just…like him. He's so sad and scared and…you hurt him, Al. You hurt him real bad."

"And that really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does."

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. I'm sorry. If you really want to help him…"

"I do."

"Then he's yours." Lexy stared at her.

"What, really?"

"Really. He'll be your responsibility. But don't expect this to be like the time you got that puppy. No one's going to take care of him if you forget. I get access to him whenever I need more toxin. If you ever change your mind about him, he comes back to my tender care. And if he ever hurts you or threatens you in any way, I'll kill him. Fair enough?"

She nodded.

"Yeah…it's fair."

--

Jonathan was surprised when the child returned to him. This time with a knife.

"I talked to Al," she said. "She told me everything." Oh, she was going to stab him. He squeezed his eyes shut. "She says you're mine to take care of." He felt her hand on his wrist. Heard the sound of the knife sawing through rope. "I understand why Al hates you, but as far as I'm concerned, you're forgiven." He opened his eyes.

"Forgiven?"

"Yeah, forgiven. As in, you don't need to be punished anymore." She freed his other wrist. "You're safe now."

"But, why? How?"

"You know what they say. Love is stronger than hate." Jonathan grimaced.

"That's not true. It's just something they say in bad poetry and greeting cards." She patted his shoulder gently.

"I'm sorry you don't believe me. I hope someday you will."


	7. Chapter 7

Pleasure. It had been so long since he had felt anything but pain, he had forgotten what it was like to feel good. He would have been satisfied with the bleary numbness of the painkillers.

But now he had actually reached a state of pleasant…goodness. Fuzzy pleasant goodness, what with the morphine, but pleasant goodness nonetheless.

He was in the first bathroom he had seen in months. It wasn't luxurious, but all he cared about was the shower.

He couldn't actually get into it, of course. But Lexy was doing her best. She had wrapped his legs in towels to protect the casts, and spread another across his lap for the sake of modesty. Hers more than his. He had been helpless for a while; he was almost beyond caring about such things.

Now she was washing his hair with something that smelled like sage while she hummed, "Don't Worry, Be Happy."

The warmth and steam, the feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp, the humming, and the drugs all combined to relax him almost to the point of sleep.

"Tilt your head back and close your eyes," Lexy said. He did. Warm water poured over his head, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. "I think that ought to do it. You have beautiful hair, when it's clean. If I had hair like that, well, I still would have dyed it green, but I probably wouldn't have cut it short."

"Why did you?"

"What, dye my hair? I don't know, it's cool. And green's my favorite color. And it doesn't really matter what I do, now that I don't have my parents or teachers to tell me no." She handed him a soapy washcloth. "Can you do the rest yourself?"

Jonathan scrubbed his body, carefully skirting bandages and old bruises. There wasn't much of him that hadn't been damaged in some way.

He couldn't believe it was all over. He knew this had to be some kind of trick, but he was willing to play along. Although he cursed himself for his own foolishness, he wanted to believe that the girl was really going to help him. He wanted to hold on to some improbable hope.

Lexy stood facing the mirror, putting on her makeup. She kept her back to him, offering at least the illusion of privacy.

"You're young to wear that much makeup," he said to break the silence.

"Yeah, Mom hated it. Al hates it, too, but she says at least all the black is better than painting myself like a cheap whore. I just like the way it looks, is all. You done?" She brought another towel to dry him. "Now, don't you feel better? I just hope your wheelchair doesn't mildew." She held up a plastic razor. "Can you do this, or do you want me to?"

Some kind of test? Jonathan eyed the razor suspiciously. Not much of a cutting edge. No use as a weapon. Not really good for anything, in fact, except shaving. And for that, he doubted he had enough control over his own muscles.

He shrugged.

"Okay, I can do that. Just like shaving your legs, right?" She grinned bravely.

Was she even old enough to be doing that?

She cut him twice, apologizing profusely both times. Then she put him in a bathroom that hung off his thin frame like a tent, and wheeled him back to his room. He started shivering as soon as they left the bathroom's warmth.

"I don't know why they keep it so cold down here," Lexy said. He didn't answer. "Poor thing, you must be freezing." She opened the door and backed into the room, dragging him in after her.

He was surprised when she spread a blanket over his lap and wrapped another around his shoulders. He clutched the ragged plaid blanket tight about him, smelling mothballs.

"Better?" she asked. He nodded.

"Much…Where did these come from?"

"I was raiding Al's linens for clean sheets, and I found the stash of blankets Al give the Boys in winter. I thought you could use a few extra." She took the old blanket off the bed and tossed it to the floor with distaste. "Oh." She held his crumpled, bloody sheet up to the light. "Oh, Jonathan." She ran back to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"For everything." She squeezed him tighter. "What's your favorite kind of jelly?"

"Jelly? Um…apple."

"You're not allergic to peanuts, are you?"

"No…"

"I used to go to school with this kid, Billy. One day he traded his tuna fish for some girl's peanut butter and jelly sandwich, even though he was allergic, and his face exploded. Not like splat, like poof. It was the most disturbing thing I've ever seen. Do you like tea?"

"Um…tea?" he repeated.

"We have some Earl Grey that's too good to be true. Lemon? Milk? Sugar?" He shook his head. "'Kay. I'll be right back."

She left the door propped open. A test? A measure of trust? A signal that even beyond this door, there was no escape?

He waited for her.

But when a shape filled the door a few seconds later, he knew it wasn't her. He squinted, trying to make the image come clear, as if he didn't know that the Scarecrow was coming into the room with her Tom behind her.

"Hi, there, Jonathan," she said.

Without a word, Tom overturned the wheelchair. Jonathan landed hard on his right leg. Jarring pain cut right through the drugs. The Scarecrow knelt beside him, pinning his right hand under her knee. Grabbing him by the throat, she tilted his head back, forcing him to look at her.

"Stop—stop it—" He tried to push her away.

"Tom." Tom's foot came down on his left elbow, effectively immobilizing him. "I've come down here to tell you something, and I want to impress its seriousness on you, Jonathan. This is _my_ child you're dealing with. If anything happens to her, I will be extremely put out. If I see her so much as sniffle or start limping from a stubbed toe, then everything I've done to you so far will seem like a pleasant dream. Do you understand?" He nodded. "Good." She released him and stood up. He should have said something snarky. He couldn't. "Be a good little boy and cooperate, and I'll leave you alone just as long as Lexy wants me to. But remember, I'll be watching you." She poked him with her toe, forcing him to uncurl from the ball he was curling into. "Help him up, Tom."

Lexy came back, carrying two cups and a plate of sandwiches, just as Tom dropped him back in the chair.

"Al? Tom? What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on you," said the Scarecrow. Lexy dumped her burdens on the bedside table and went straight to Jonathan's side.

"What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?"

"Of course we didn't."

"I'm not stupid, Al. I know you did _something_. Al, you promised!"

"Well, go on, Jonathan. Tell her what really happened, since she won't believe me." He kept his eyes glued to his toes.

"Fell," he muttered.

"What?" said Lexy.

"I fell." Lexy frowned.

"Really?" He said nothing. "Well, I hope you'll be more careful from now on. Thanks for helping, Tom." If sarcasm were a knife, she would have stabbed the Boy in the face. "You guys can go now, unless you have something else to say to me."

"Alexis," the Scarecrow said warningly. Lexy waited, hands on her hips. "Are you coming up for dinner?"

"No. I'm not leaving him again."

"Lexy, he wasn't hurt."

"And he's not going to be!" She put her arms protectively around his shoulders.

"Fine. I'll send you something to eat."

"Thanks. Have someone bring my sleeping bag, too." The Scarecrow glared at her.

"You're getting better at giving orders, Lex, but don't forget who you're giving them to. Tom." He mockingly saluted Lexy and followed the Scarecrow out the door.

Lexy sagged.

"I'm sorry. We're out of apple jelly. Is grape okay?" She gave him a cup of steaming hot tea. Her hands were shaking. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"I can't believe I talked to Al like that." She gave him a sandwich and took one for herself. "I was always the good kid."

"You are a good kid," he said. She smiled.

"Are you hurt? Really?"

"No." The elbow Tom had stepped on wouldn't extend all the way, but she didn't have to know that.

"Well, how's the tea?"

"Good. Very good."

"I love tea. How long do you think it will take Al to figure out that she can ground me?" She put her half-eaten sandwich back on the plate and went back to changing the sheets. "I mean, she is my maternal unit, after all." She sniffed the clean sheets. "Mmm. Gainy."

He ate until he was full. Amazing what a difference that could make. Lexy folded the sheets into neat hospital corners and then sat down to finish her own sandwich. Then she jumped up to pace around the room.

"I don't know what I'm doing." She took a sip of tea and went back to pacing. "My whole life, I've never disobeyed my parents. I've never done anything wrong."

"Are you doing anything wrong?" he asked. She hugged him.

"Of course not! At least…I don't think so. But Al doesn't like it."

"Does she tell you the difference between right and wrong? Or is that your decision to make?"

"It's…it's never been my decision before. I'm a kid. Kids don't get to decide stuff like this."

"How old are you, Lexy?"

"Fourteen. Almost."

"That's old enough to make your own decisions."

"But what if I'm wrong?"

"If you're wrong, then it's not a good idea to let me know you have doubts." He shrugged. "But do you really think you're wrong?"

"I think…it would be wrong to leave you. And I won't. I promise. I just…I just…" She hugged him again.

_You really are a good kid,_ he thought. It would be a shame to sacrifice her.


	8. Chapter 8

She was reading aloud to him, hours later, when one of the Boys showed up with dinner. Hamburgers.

"I wonder who cooked," she said. "We used to have a guy, but he didn't come back from the last job. We've been living off canned stuff for days. Not that it makes much difference." She sighed. "You know, sometimes I wish Al would take me on a job, just so I could get out of here for a little while. But I guess it must be even worse for you."

"What about school?" he asked.

"Al says I don't need it. I miss it a lot more than I thought I would. Not just my friends, but actual school. Al says I can use her library, but…"

"Library?" She smiled at him, amused by his sudden interest.

"Yeah, she's got all kinds of books, everything you'd ever want to learn about. I just can't do it that way. I don't have the patience to teach myself."

"Why not get a tutor?" She laughed.

"Who would tutor me here, Sid the Squid? Most of these boys can't even spell their own names."

"I could do it."

"What, J-O-N-A-T-H-A—"

"No, P-R-O-F-E-S-S-O-R. I taught at Gotham University when I was younger."

"Really? Wow, you're neat."

_Neat?_ No one had ever said that to him before.

"Bring some books down here. I would be glad to take over your education." He hesitated. "Are you at all interested in chemistry?"

"Blowing stuff up?"

"I was thinking of something more subtle, but…we'll see."

--

Lexy was, and always had been, an early riser. Even after staying up half the night singing Jonathan to sleep, she woke a little after 7:30, stiff from a night on the floor. Her sleeping bag was all right for slumber parties, but it wasn't going to work for this.

She got up to check on Jonathan, who was sleeping soundly. She didn't want to disturb his peace.

"I'm going to take a shower," she whispered. "I'll be back soon."

She ran up the stairs to her room to get clean clothes. The building was strangely silent.

"Another late night. Silly boys."

She stepped into the shower in her own private bathroom, humming. "Singin' in the Rain" was the name of the song; since she knew almost none of the words, she substituted her own.

"Cheap hair dye's rinsing out, going down the waterspout, dum dum dee dum dum, all my green's washing out…"

She was still singing when she went to Al's library and gathered up an armful of interesting-looking books.

She stopped singing when she reached the bottom of the stairs and heard the long, piercing scream of a man in mortal terror or unendurable pain.

Her books fell, unheeded, to the floor.

"Jonathan!"

She ran down the hall, running toward the sound of the screams. Past a dozen empty cells like Jonathan's. Past the bathroom where she had almost seen him smile. Past the kitchen where she had made his tea. Down a shorter flight of stairs to the one door Al had warned her was absolutely off limits.

She threw open the door.

There was Al, in her Scarecrow mask, turned away from the door. On the floor around her was a jumble of objects, too many and too varied for Lexy to make sense of them. And in one shadowed corner of the room was the captive, screaming…crying…trying to hide...begging for mercy.

"You don't mess with family," the Scarecrow said. "Haven't you learned that yet? You stay away from my family."

She did something with the hand Lexy couldn't see, and the screams rose in volume and pitch.

"Jonathan! No!" She threw herself into the room, only to be caught by Tom, who picked her up with one arm and carried her out into the hall and up the stairs as she kicked, flailed, scratched, and bit—all for nothing. "No! Let me go! Jonathan! _Jonathan!"_

"Hush, Little Al," Tom said, wrapping both arms around her as he carried her back toward the main stairs. "That's not him down there. Your little pet's just fine."

"Liar! Liar!"

"Fine, don't believe me." He set her down. "Just check the lab before you bite me again." He opened the door for her.

The lab was a room she had never seen before, but it looked very much like the chemistry lab in the high school she would have attended next year. Standing just inside the doorway were two of the Boys, and parked at one of the lab stations was Jonathan, looking startled. She ran in and threw her arms around him.

"Oh, Jonathan! I thought—I thought—" She broke down completely, crying noisily on his shoulder. After a few seconds, she felt him stop trembling and put his arms around her.

"Shh…shh…" he said, awkwardly stroking her hair. "It's all right, Lexy. Everything's going to be all right." He made a shooing motion. "Give the child a few minutes of privacy. And close the door. Can't you see she's bothered by that incessant screaming?"

One of the Boys growled. Tom dragged them both outside and closed the door.

She held him. He held her. She wept.

"Oh, Jonathan, I th-thought Al was h-hurting you, and I d-d-didn't want to break my promise!" she wailed.

"You didn't. You haven't betrayed me. Everything is all right. Don't cry, now."

"But, who…"

"Rupert Thorne, probably. I know the Scarecrow was after him, but I don't know why she would enjoy the sound of his voice quite this much. Lexy, if you don't stop crying, you're going to make yourself sick."

"I'm scared…"

"I know. Don't be. Your cousin wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, and she wouldn't go back on her word without good reason. Stop crying. You have no reason to cry." She pulled away from him, hiccupping and trying to wipe away the tears.

"My head hurts…"

"Go to the sink. Wash your face and blow your nose. Then I'll show you what I do around here."

She nodded. Splashing cold water on her face didn't really help, but what else could she do? He looked calm…undamaged…what could she do but believe that he really was all right?

The screaming went on and on.

"She's going to kill him, you know," Jonathan said. "That probably won't make it better for you, but his pain is only temporary. It will all be over soon."

"I hate killing," she whispered.

"You're too young to realize it, but there are things more frightening than death. Come here. Tell me if you can identify any of these chemicals."

When the Boys came back to check on them, Lexy was transferring her own batch of fear toxin into the pressurized containers.

"Huh," said Tom. Lexy waved.

"Jonathan said I should write down everything I used so you'd know we didn't steal anything."

"Good kid. What did you make?"

"Knock-out gas." She glanced at Jonathan. "_Spooooooky_ knock-out gas."

"It overloads the brain's fear sensors, causing almost instantaneous unconsciousness," Jonathan explained.

"Uh-huh…" He took a look at the meticulous list of ingredients. "And is the _other_ batch ready?"

"Of course." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Is Al almost done?" Lexy asked. The eerie screams had reached a new level. She could hear the man going hoarse, but he showed no sign of stopping.

"Shouldn't be much longer."

"And are we done?"

"Sure. You can take him back to his room. I'll give you a hand if you want."

"No, thanks. I did leave some books in the hall…"

"I got those for you."

"Then I'll see you later," she said imperiously. And he left. Surprise, surprise.

--

"_The Turn of the Screw. The Ring of the Nibelung. _Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. Philip K. Dick. Joe Lansdale. H. P. Lovecraft."

"Have you ever read Lovecraft?"

"No, but my brother liked him. He thought it would be too scary for me."

"Interesting. What else?"

"_The Anarchist's Cookbook. Batman: The Ultimate Training Manual."_

"Really? That's odd."

"There's one for Superman, too. _The Ultimate Guide to Saving the Day. The Action Hero's Handbook._ 'Poems and Fragments' by Sappho. _The Kama Sutra."_

"Do you know what that is?"

"No, but it sounded all scholarly and important."

"We won't be studying that one. Put it back and don't tell anyone you've seen it."

"Okay. Why?"

"Trust me. What else do you have?"

"Um…an atlas. _The Stars and Planets. Space: The Final Frontier. Broadcasting in America. Ahlan wa Sahlan:_ Beginning Arabic. Um…To…lo…ca: A Basic Course in Russian."

"The only foreign language I could teach you is Latin, and it's been years since I've studied that."

"Oh. Oh, well. _America: The Book."_

"That isn't a real textbook."

"_Fundamentals of Psychology."_

"Oh, good."

"_Hannibal."_

_"Hannibal?"_

"I liked the movie. _Theatrical Design and Production."_

"Why would you need to study that?" She frowned.

"Well, what books would you have gotten?"

"History written for your age group. Serious science texts. I notice you have nothing related to math."

"I _hate_ math!"

"I see. In that case, your first reading assignment is 'Dreams in the Witch-House' by H. P. Lovecraft."

--

The screaming finally died down around midnight. Jonathan had expected as much. He had engineered the toxin to the Scarecrow's exact specifications.

After the silence, Lexy dropped off to sleep almost immediately. Jonathan stayed awake, reading one of Joe Lansdale's short stories. It was nice to finally have a change from Poe.

Reading without his glasses was a strain on his eyes, no matter how close he held the book. He put it down for a minute and took a look at the child curled up in his wheelchair. She had proven to be quite perceptive when it came to literature, less clever with the aspects of history that didn't interest her, adequate at following his instructions with the toxin but by no means brilliant, absolutely hopeless at math. She had a good general knowledge of geography, but no idea what to do with a map. She was a bright enough girl, ignorant but not stupid. She could be taught. She could be molded. She could be used.

Plans were forming in his mind.

She would be very useful, indeed.

--

"He's changing," Tom said. "I don't like it." Al shrugged.

"He feels safer with a sweet little guardian angel watching over him. Pretty soon, he'll get cocky. As soon as he thinks he can get away with it, he'll try for an escape. He'll have to use Lexy for that, somehow. The minute he makes any threatening move toward her, he's mine again." She took a sip of champagne. "This is good. Where did it come from?"

"From Champagne."

"Oh, of course."

"Al, what happens if he really gets away? Or if he hurts the kid?"

"He won't. That's why you're keeping an eye on them, Tom. You're the only one I trust for this. And this champagne is really top-notch."

"Someone picked it up while we were snatching Thorne last night. Apparently there was company coming. Speaking of Thorne, how long…well…you know. It's bothering everybody."

"I recorded the session today to give Stromwell and Falcone proof that I've got him. They'll pay half the fee for that. Once they've paid me, I'll kill him and collect the rest of my money. It's a shame we can't trust each other more, but I don't really mind dragging this out a little."

"It's personal for you this time, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. You don't mess with family. That's our rule, and we all follow it. You don't mess with family. But this guy had my cousin rubbed out while he was lying in a hospital bed, in a fucking coma. So now he dies. Painfully."

"Your cousin, Jay? The one who was working for Falcone?"

"The one and only. If he had just come to work for me, he never would have gotten shot in the first place. But my uncle was trying to raise him and Alexis outside of the business, so he had to run away to a bunch of strangers to get his start."

"Not your fault. Does the kid know?"

"She doesn't need to know." She chugged the rest of her champagne. "I need another drink."


	9. Chapter 9

Earl Grey tea was quite possibly the best thing he had ever put in his mouth. He sipped it while he studied Lexy's crudely-drawn maps of the building and the neighborhood around it.

It had been a very productive day.

She had been terrified to leave him alone, even for a moment. He was the one who had drawn the line at following her into the bathroom.

He looked up when he heard footsteps out in the hall. Not Lexy. It was some of the Boys, running, panicked, babbling about…about…

Well.

Lexy returned a few minutes later.

"What's got everyone in such a tizzy out there?" she asked.

"He's here," Jonathan said, wide-eyed.

"Who?"

"The Batman." Lexy gasped.

"Then I've got to hide. I…I guess this is goodbye." She hugged him. "I'll miss you. But it's better this way, right? I mean, he'll take you to Arkham, where you'll be safe."

Yes, to Arkham. A place with real doctors. A place monitored and regulated by the government, if only halfheartedly. The place where he could find all the people he had ever considered almost like friends. Jervis, who was quite mad, but still full of interesting ideas. Edward, who was obnoxiously arrogant, but could always be counted on for a rousing game of Scrabble. Harley, who didn't seem all that bright, but could keep up a discussion of psychiatric practices well enough to hold his interest.

But, who was he kidding? That place was full of psychos, and not all of them were inmates. And from what he'd heard back in December, Arkham was worse than ever these days.

And Batman…Jonathan couldn't remember a single encounter with the Batman that hadn't ended with him gassed or beaten to a bloody pulp. Sometimes both.

"Jonathan? You look…scared."

"Batman and I are not exactly the best of friends," he admitted. "He isn't here for me, anyway. He'll be rescuing Thorne. For the sake of justice."

"Oh. I can take you with me, if that's what you want."

"Outside?" he asked, hardly daring to hope for such a stroke of luck.

"No. Downstairs." She wheeled him out into the hall, now completely empty. "Al had the elevators specially modified. The button is a fingerprint analyzer. Neat, huh?" She pressed it with her left thumb. "If anything but my thumb or Al's or probably a couple of other guys' presses this button, you just get a regular elevator, but…" The doors slid open to reveal…a regular elevator.

"I don't get it."

She pushed him inside. The doors closed behind them. They dropped down a few feet and then stopped. The doors didn't open. Lexy giggled.

"Nothing around us now but solid rock. There's a second car above us. That's what anyone else will get if they try to use this elevator." He nodded.

"Very clever. And can we get out as easily as we got in?"

"Sure. I just—" The lights went out.

Jonathan tensed, his rapid breathing echoing off the walls. Lexy grabbed his hand.

"Nothing to fear," he whispered. "Nothing in the dark. Nothing to fear but fear itself. Nothing to fear."

"Jonathan?"

"Batman cut the power," he said, trying to make it all sound rational. "He likes working in the dark. He likes to scare his enemies."

"I don't like this…"

"He'll have gotten one of your Boys alone by now. He'll be beating the truth out of him now. 'Where's Thorne?'" he growled, imitating the Batman's voice.

"You're scaring me…"

"He might last all of ten seconds before he starts babbling to Batman about the first time he robbed a liquor store, or how he wet the bed when he was six years old."

"Knock it off! You're freaking me out!"

Jonathan fell silent. There was no light, no sound but their breathing, no world outside the elevator car. Was the air getting stale already?

"There will be bodies everywhere," he said. "Not dead, but some of them will wish they were. The Batman isn't just fear. He's the mind _and _the body; he knows that fear and pain can cripple, but pain is faster. Though fear is more thorough. He'll want to cripple them quickly. The Scarecrow will gather whatever forces she can at such short notice to stand against him. She doesn't like to let anything go. She'll be glad of the extra toxin you made yesterday. She'll want whatever weapons she can use against him. Scarecrow is less balanced than Batman, mind more than body, fear more than pain." He was talking mostly to himself, remembering himself as the Scarecrow, how effortlessly fear had come to him, and from him, and how hard it had been to train his weak body to cause any kind of damage in a fair fight. This Scarecrow used her mind adeptly, but she was undersized and bookish, and female to boot, and she would rely on others' muscles to stand between her fragile body and the Batman's fists. She had not trained herself to fight hand-to-hand, thinking she would never need to. She didn't have the advantage he'd had in not trusting anyone to protect him. She had not truly been a part of the so-called Rogue's Gallery until tonight. She didn't yet understand how Batman would power through her Boys like a force of nature, an unstoppable nightmare coming straight for her.

"Will he hurt her?" Lexy asked. He decided to tell her the truth, but the short version.

"Possibly. If she's wearing the mask and she tries to fight him, she might not walk away from this. If he can see she's a woman, he might go easy on her. If she doesn't try to fight him herself, he might not hurt her at all. It all depends on her. If she's smart enough to incapacitate him immediately with the toxin, she might even win. But she'll probably end up in prison tomorrow. Or Arkham. Or a hospital."

"Arkham? Why?"

"She puts on a mask to commit crimes. That earns most of us a one-way ticket."

"What if everyone gets taken in? What if the power doesn't come back on? What if we're stuck down here?"

"There must be an emergency hatch. You can climb out."

"What about you?"

"I'll just have to trust you to help me out, won't I?"

"But…"

"Don't panic, Lexy."

"But…"

"There would be no one to frighten you if you refused to be afraid."

"But it's dark!"

"And there's nothing in the dark to hurt you." He was surprised to find that his own fear was mostly gone. "Why don't you sing something. You'll feel better."

"I…I can't think of anything."

He sighed.

"Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…"

"What?" she exclaimed.

"The Batmobile lost a wheel and the Joker got away." Lexy burst out laughing.

'You…that song…you…"

"Am I going to have to keep singing to you? I don't normally do this kind of thing, you know."

"I know!" She kept laughing.

"You find my singing that funny?" His voice sounded a little hurt, to his own ears.

"Yes! You're so bad, you're cute."

"Cute?" Another word no one had ever applied to him. At least she wasn't panicking anymore.

--

"But Batman is smart, and he has all those gadgets. He could figure something out," Lexy insisted.

"No, no. Human intelligence is our best weapon, but there's only so much you can do against something that much bigger and stronger than you are. Godzilla is the size of a tall building. Being hit with a bat-grenade would be like stubbing his toe. He could crush Batman and the Batmobile just by stepping on them."

"Well, what if Batman had help? Like a giant robot or something?"

"Shh. Do you hear that?" Lexy squeezed his hand.

Someone was on the roof.

"How long have we been down here?" Lexy whispered.

"A couple of hours. Batman should be gone by now, but we can't be sure. Stay quiet." She pressed close to him, holding him protectively.

"What if it is Batman?"

"He won't hurt you. He likes children. He has two sidekicks not much older than you." And after what he had done to Batgirl, Batman was sure to hold a grudge. He would probably be blamed for Robin, too, although he hadn't been working on the Boy Wonder, and capturing them hadn't even been his idea. Batman wouldn't know that, of course.

"He won't hurt you, either, will he?"

"Probably not," he lied. "Keep your voice down. Maybe we won't have to find out."

They listened to the sound of someone moving around above them. Then the hatch opened up. A flashlight beam shined down on them.

"Lexy?"

"Tom! Is it all over up there?"

"Yeah, we're good. You okay?"

"Uh-huh. Jonathan taught me to play poker. Of course, we didn't have any cards…" Tom laughed.

"Come on. I'll get you out." She let go of Jonathan and reached up to take Tom's hand. He pulled her up. The light disappeared.

"Wait. What about him?"

"We'll get the power back on in a few hours," Tom said indifferently.

"Hours? You can't leave him alone down here for hours!"

"Actually, I can leave him alone down here as long as I need to. What I can't do is drag him and his wheelchair up an elevator shaft by myself. Another thing I can't do is disappoint my boss, who wants physical proof that her kid's okay. She's in a very bad mood right now, Lexy, so I'm not dealing with any arguments from you."

"Hey! Put me down!" Lexy cried. "Will you at least leave him the flashlight?"

That was the last thing Jonathan heard for a while.

_Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…_

--

"Tom, you_ can't_ leave him down there!" Lexy insisted. "Al—"

"Al's hurt," he said, setting her on her feet at the top of the stairs.

"Hurt?"

"She just traded fists with Batman. Of course she's hurt."

"Bad?"

"It's not good. She wants to see you." He gave her a little push toward the infirmary.

"Is anybody else hurt?"

"Of course. It was Batman." He walked along beside her, one hand on her shoulder. "Don't freak out when you go in there, kid. A couple of our boys got beat up pretty bad. More got gassed. The cops came through after the Batman and took in everyone they could catch. They know better than to stay too long in this part of town, though. They'll catch hell from our friends for hitting us at all. But for now, we're crippled. Just thought you should know." He opened the door.

"Oh, fuck me…" Tom smacked her.

"Watch your mouth, kid."

Every bed in the room was full. Some of the men were bloody. Many were unconscious. Almost all of those who were awake were moaning in fear and thrashing as if attacked by invisible assailants. The flickering candles scattered around the room made the scene even more hellish, throwing into shadow what should have been bright and clear.

"What did he do?" Lexy whispered.

"Used the Scarecrow's fear gas against us. This way." He guided her to the bed in the far corner where Al was resting.

She opened one eye—the other was covered with a bandage—and smiled.

"Hey, munchkin. You okay?" she asked. Her voice was roughened by pain, the words slightly slurred.

"Me? What about you?"

"Oh, you know. Couple of broken bones, glass in the eye, maybe a ruptured spleen. No biggie. Are you okay?"

"Sure. I was hiding in the elevator. Did Batman get what he came for?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Al frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't like it when people get hurt."

"Alexis, look around you. How many people did he _hurt_ to save one worthless life? Do you think Thorne never _hurt_ anyone?" Lexy's eyebrows drew together. "You want to tend the wounded, Alexis, become a nurse. Your self-righteous attitude has no place in this business." She sighed. "Not that Doc couldn't use the help. One failed vet can't take care of all of us, even at half strength."

"Then why don't you pull Jonathan out of that elevator and get him to help? He's a doctor, isn't he?"

"He was a psychiatrist. Past tense, by the way."

"But he must have gone to medical school."

"I don't care, Alexis. That man isn't coming near me or my Boys."

"Lexy." They stared at each other. "Not Alexis."

"He is not coming near my Boys," Al said firmly.

"Will you at least make Tom get him out of the elevator?"

"We'll get him out," Al said. "Eventually."

"Fine," Lexy snapped. "I guess you'll know where to find me next time you need me." She pulled away from Tom's restraining hand and stalked out of the room. Tom followed her into the darkened hall.

"Kid, wait up."

"No! Leave me alone!" She stumbled over to the stairs.

"Look, the boss is worse off than she's letting on. She needs you right now." Down the stairs. She moved blindly, trailing her fingers along the wall.

"No. She needs you. You're her bodyguard. I'm just…"

"Just the kid she loves like her own daughter. Nothing special about that."

Lexy found the open elevator door and groped for the cable to slide down.

"Hey, Jonathan, I'm coming down, okay?"

"Okay." His voice floated up out of the darkness, thin and ghostly. Lexy started to climb down. Tom stopped her.

"What is it with this guy? You got a little crush on him, or what?"

"Let go of me," she said coldly.

"You may think you're in love with him, but he's not the kind of guy who'd love you back." She batted his hand away.

"I would rather be down there, with my friend, in the dark, than up here with you and Al. Go back and tell her that. And tell her to leave me alone."

--

"I've lost her completely, haven't I?" said Al. Tom dropped her gently in her own bed.

"You know how kids are. She'll come around." He covered her with a sheet like magenta ink and a blanket like melted chocolate, the rich colors and visual textures that defined her personal space in this otherwise industrial lair. She was not comforted.

"I know how _he _is. He's going to break her heart. I don't know if it's worth it just to prove I'm right. I don't want to see her hurt, but it's too late to split them up now. She'd never forgive me." He pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, bizarrely maternal, careful of the arm that had snapped before he'd gotten her away from Batman.

"She's a good kid. She'll understand someday."

"Maybe. But I just can't help wondering, what if she's right? Maybe I have gone too far. Maybe I've hurt him more than he deserves. Maybe…maybe there's something really wrong with me." She seemed to shrink. "Maybe I'm just going crazy."

"Al…"

"Batman looked at me today and saw the Scarecrow. I wanted to be the Master of Fear. I didn't want…"

"It's been a rough day, boss." He made his tone brusque. "You'll feel better if you get some sleep."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I don't know what I'd do without you, Tom." He grinned a little, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Hey, you know…"

"No, really. I don't know what I'd do. You're my rock and my only friend. I'm glad you're here."

He ducked his head.

"Hey, you wouldn't be the leader if you weren't worth following."

"You think so?"

"Of course. You just rest up so you can lead us tomorrow, okay?" She nodded—the boss, the Scarecrow, temporarily childlike and vulnerable. Then she grinned mischievously.

"Hey, do you think my face would look too cluttered if I started wearing an eyepatch and a monocle?"

Tom couldn't help laughing.

"Get some sleep, boss. You want me to keep an eye on them down there?"

"No, not tonight. Tonight…I just want some company."


	10. Chapter 10

"They think I'm in love with you," Lexy said. She put her arms around Jonathan and struggled to lift him out of the wheelchair and into the bed. He might have looked like he was made of toothpicks, but it was still hard for her to move him, and there were no Boys available to help her. "Crazy, huh?" She managed to get him on the bed and held her hand out for a high five. He stared as if he'd never seen a hand before. She shrugged and patted his shoulder.

"It's not entirely crazy. The Florence Nightingale effect made Harleen Quinzel fall in love with the Joker. But it's to your credit that you have more sense than Harley Quinn."

"That is such a romantic story, though," Lexy said with a dreamy smile. Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

"Romantic? I would hardly call it that."

"But she gave up everything she had to follow the man she loves."

"Yes, everything including her sanity. And, eventually, her life. If she doesn't go down in a hail of bullets, the Joker himself will have a bad day and shove her out a window. Pooh may love Puddin', but Puddin' doesn't really love Pooh."

"They call each other Puddin' and Pooh?" Lexy said with a far-off look in her eyes.

"I think you've missed the point…" She wasn't listening.

"It's so romantic." She sat down in his empty wheelchair. "I never had a guy give me a nickname. Well, except Jeff. He used to call me C Note. I don't know why." She sighed. "I miss my friends."

"You could probably get out of here," he said reluctantly. "Your cousin has a hard time turning down your requests."

"What, and leave you all alone? No way! Besides, Al and I aren't getting along right now. I don't think she'd let me go."

"Would you really need her permission?" Lexy frowned.

"I couldn't just run away. Al's the only family I have left." Yes, family. That was her weakest spot. He would have to get her to tell him just what had happened to her parents. That would be the key to her hidden fears. "I can't leave her. And if I run away, I don't think she'll let me come back."

Of course she would; she loved the kid. She would welcome her back with open arms, although the terms of their relationship would probably change. Better not tell Lexy _that_, though.

"Then you'll have to decide what's more important to you, friends or family." She probably didn't know the word _triage_, but he could see her struggling with the concept.

"My friend," she whispered. "You're my friend, and I promised to protect you. But I promised Al I wouldn't let you go. I have to break one of my promises, don't I?"

Honor. An important characteristic for samurai and children. Something he had not seen in a while.

"Yes. But if you don't want to make the choice, you can just walk away. Let this play out as it's fated to do." His own kind of honor, to let her believe that she was making a choice, and the right one. Or maybe it was himself he was fooling.

"So you do have an escape plan?" Her voice sounded disappointed, almost. Was she now realizing that her cousin had been right not to trust him? Would that change anything?

"Of course."

She stared at him, sparkling green eyes now solemn, determined.

"Of course I do," he repeated deliberately.

"Then tell me what I can do to help."

--

It took a week for Lexy to make a batch of toxin to Jonathan's specifications without Tom noticing what she was taking. He had promised her that none of the Boys would be hurt. She wasn't completely sure she believed him.

She knew he was dangerous, if he had been Scarecrow before Al. He was one of the bad guys, not that the term really meant much to a girl whose entire family had been involved with the mob at some level. He was supposed to be evil. About that, she wasn't sure.

But she was fairly sure that she trusted him. After all, he had trusted her.

"I got it done," she said, handing him a grilled cheese sandwich. "Enough for the whole gang, if need be."

"Do you have gas masks?"

"No. If I take those now, they'll be missed. I can raid the supply closet when we're ready to go. Do you want me to get your Scarecrow mask back from Al?"

"Not a priority. Other supplies?"

"Enough painkillers to last you a couple of days. Some food and water. $200, cash."

"Good girl. What about a car?"

"Jonathan, you can't drive, and I don't know how."

"We'll worry about that later. Just have a car near the exit, I don't care whose, I don't care how. Keep the keys with you."

"Where will we go? You should really be in a hospital. I don't know how to take care of you by myself."

"Don't worry. I know a place."

"Should I be studying maps?"

"No. I'll guide you."

"Okay. What else should I be doing?"

"Watching and waiting. That's all."

"When do we leave?"

"Soon."

The lights went out. Jonathan felt her hand tighten on his arm.

"Batman!" she whispered.

"No. It's not Batman. He has no reason to come back here. But it's something. You'd better go get those gas masks. Now."

Lexy turned on her flashlight, glad that she had thought ahead. Her backpack was lying on the floor nearby. She rummaged through it until she found what she needed.

"Here you go. One flashlight and two cans of knockout gas. Looks like pepper spray, doesn't it? I'll carry the rest." She slung her backpack over her shoulders and ran out into the hall, nearly colliding with Tom.

"Lexy! Come on. I'll get you to safety."

"No, you'd better go to Al. She needs you. I can take care of myself. What's going on?"

"Getting raided. Routine stuff. Nothing to worry about."

"Peelers?"

"Where did you learn that word? No, it's not the cops. Falcone's boys aren't happy with us for letting Thorne go. They'll be coming after Al."

"You'll protect her, won't you?" For a moment, she wished that things were different, that she could stay by her cousin's side and make sure nothing happened to her. But she had already made her choice. Tom would take care of Al.

"Of course I will. But maybe you have something you'd like to say to her…just in case?"

"Yeah," she said. "Tell her I love her. Just in case."

--

"This place is crawling," Lexy said. "Maybe we should just hide and wait for a better chance."

"Did you get the masks?"

"Yeah…"

"Then we have nothing to be afraid of."

"What about a car? I haven't had time to get one ready yet."

"We'll work something out," he said. "Please. I…I just want to go home." She dropped something in his lap. "What's this?"

"A present, Mr. Scarecrow. Your mask."

--

"Come on, boss. You'll be safest up on the roof."

Al leaned on Tom as they made their way up the stairs. For the first time, she was really furious at the Batman. What right did he have to take out his anger issues on the Scarecrow, a man—or woman—he could have snapped in half with one hand? She was bad off, and things were only going to get worse.

No one was going to get to the roof as long as a single one of her boys downstairs was able to lift a weapon, and no one who did reach the roof was going to take a whack at her while Tom was still breathing, and between his tommy gun and her .22 and Lucky, they could account for…

No, she was going to die.

"Is Lexy okay?" she asked.

"She'll be fine. She told me to tell you she loves you."

"Does she know what's going on?"

"No, I didn't tell her much. But I did tell her I would protect you, and that I will."

"I know, Tom. You always do." Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. He blushed. "And I know you always will."

--

Wearing the mask was like going home. Everything was different. He was himself again. The Scarecrow.

"There will be blood," he warned Lexy as the elevator started to rise.

"I'm not afraid."

The elevator stopped. His finger tightened on the spray can's trigger.

The doors slid open.

Fear filled the air. The men in the hallway fell, one of them screaming in terror. But most of these men were already dead, shot through the head or the heart. Such senseless violence. For the first time in months, he smiled, imagining the terror they must have felt just before they died.

Someone came at them from the side. The dance was begun.

He had never danced without legs before. It was an interesting test of his reflexes, which were not what they should have been, but better than they could have been. Inside the mask he felt no fear, only the fierce and savage joy of doing what he _was_.

Lexy was the perfect extension of his will, maneuvering his chair around the attackers and the fallen, gassing anyone he missed. Briefly, he thought of her in a scarecrow mask and ragged brown coat, Scarecrow's daughter, the Mistress of Fear.

It would have been delicious. Too bad it would never work out. The gentle girl would never survive such a drastic alteration.

This, though…this was easy.

The unsuspecting Boys would not fire on their future leader, and the enemies were confused by the sight of a little girl pushing a man in a wheelchair. They had to get up close to see the masks and recognize the threat—one benefit of working in the dark—and once they came that close, they were in range of the gas.

Beautiful. Some of them crumpled. Some had time to scream first. Some clawed at the air. Some clawed at their own faces.

Beautiful.

Scarecrow was pleased.


	11. Chapter 11

Of the seven men who had made it to the roof, only one was still standing. One would be enough.

Tom was lying at her feet, shot through the lung, fighting hard to pick up his weapon and defend her.

"Lie down, Tom," she said. "You're done."

"Not…finished…"

"Listen to the lady." The man kicked Tom's gun away and put his own to the back of Tom's head.

"Hold it! Is this how Falcone operates, shooting a guy in the back when he can't get up?"

The sound of the gunshot shattered the night.

"Didn't shoot him in the back. I shot him in the head."

Trembling, she raised her gun and pulled the trigger once, twice, three times. She was out of bullets and they both knew it.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the spreading pool of blood, brains, and skull fragments that was—had been—the only man she could trust. In that pool she saw Emily, her dearest friend, dead because of a youthful mistake and good intentions. She saw her father, dead because he had gotten just a little too powerful in a business that didn't look kindly on competition. She saw her mother, dead because she had finally fallen in love after seventeen years of marriage. She saw her reckless young cousin, Jay, dead in a hospital bed because of information he couldn't have communicated to anyone, anyway. She saw her father's brother and his wife, Arnie Stromwell's own niece, dead for God only knew what reason, maybe even just an accident. She saw Jonathan Crane, not dead but surely destroyed by her own hand, damaged more than justice should have allowed. She saw Lexy, who would be alone now, and would never have another chance at what she wanted most, the same thing Al had wanted once: a normal childhood. A normal life.

Four times. Five. Six. He knocked the gun out of her hand.

A normal child who would never be.

_Should have stayed in school, Alice._

A blow sent her flying, to land on the edge of the roof.

_Could have been a doctor._

He stood over her, smiling. The mouth of the gun looked as big as a grapefruit. Why did that seem to have meaning?

_Could have done something good with your life._

"You got any last words, Little Al?" Mocking. Snarky. Son of a bitch.

"Yeah." Behind her back, her fingers closed around Lucky's handle. "Tell Falcone…" she whispered. He leaned in closer to hear her. Looked past her, down at the street.

"Hey…there's a kid and a cripple boosting my car."

_Lexy?_

He raised his gun to shoot at the odd pair of car thieves. He only had time for a single shot before she flipped open Lucky and buried it in his throat.

"You don't mess with family, you son of a bitch."

She shoved him away from her, over the edge of the roof.

_Escape, Lexy. Run away from all of this. Don't ever let it catch you._

In a minute, she would get up and run. In a minute. Just as soon as she caught her breath.

She was still lying on the edge of the roof when the cops found her the next day.

--

Outside. Fresh air for the first time in months, and he couldn't smell it. He wanted to tear off his mask…but it was too soon.

Lexy took hers off. Fool, fool. Could she make it any easier on him?

"There's a car," she said. "Should I hotwire it?"

"Do you know how?"

"Theoretically."

She smashed the window and opened the door. He readied his can of fear gas. Driving with broken legs wasn't going to be easy, but it was better than walking. He didn't have to get far.

There would be no pain for her, and only a second or two of fear. It was a better fate than he had granted to most of his associates. She would survive, and he would finally be free. Alone.

The engine came to life. Lexy cheered.

"You've done well, Lexy." She ran around to the passenger side of the car, where he was waiting. "You've done everything I could have asked and more. Thank you."

She hugged him.

Scarecrow raised the spray can.

"How could I not help you? That's what friends are for."

He hesitated.

Friends?

She let him go and saw the can pointed at her. A look of fear crossed her face, followed by hurt.

"Jonathan? Are you going to gas me?"

His finger eased off the trigger.

"No, Lexy. I want you to put this in the car where you can reach it easily. If we run into trouble, I don't want my partner unarmed." She smiled at him.

"Oh, Jonathan, I knew Al was wrong about you." Her smile...was heartbreaking. He smiled back, uneasily, but not without true emotion. "Let's get you in the car." Fighting gravity, she lifted him with both arms and slid him out of the chair. This time, he was strong enough to help her.

A single gunshot from the roof made them both jump.

"That's Al," Lexy whispered. "She can hold them off, can't she?"

"With Tom to help her? Of course she can." She dropped him on the seat and bent down to get his legs inside the car.

A second gunshot. Lexy stiffened with a gasp of surprise. The Scarecrow grunted in pain as the bullet punched through his body. He looked down at his right side, where a circle of red was growing.

Ricocheted off a rib. Broken. He felt it stabbing him when he breathed. Hurt. Oh, it hurt.

Lexy was hyperventilating.

"Somebody s-sh-shot…"

"It's nothing—drive."

Something fell from the roof, landing with a crack and a splash like a water balloon filled with custard. He couldn't see what it was, but Lexy confirmed his guess when she looked at it and started to scream.

"Don't panic," he said. "I need you." Sobbing, she got in the driver's seat and put on her seatbelt. "Thompkins Clinic…Park Row…can you…"

"I know where it is."

"Good." He pressed his hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Put your foot on the brake…now put it in gear…D for drive…now headlights…there…hit the gas…"

She stomped down on the gas pedal, pressing it all the way to the floor. The car took off like a rocket, tires squealing. Lexy cried out in fear and slammed on the brakes. His head hit the dashboard with a crack.

_She'd never have handled manual,_ he thought before he blacked out.

He opened his eyes sometime later and looked over at Lexy. She was clutching the wheel with her left hand, hugging herself with her right. Tears were streaming, unchecked, down her face. She was deathly pale, and her eyes looked glazed.

"Lexy…no time…for shock," he managed before the darkness claimed him again.


	12. Chapter 12

"Gee, are you okay, Professor Crane?"

Slowly, he opened his eyes to the sterile white walls of Arkham Asylum's hospital wing.

"Harley Quinn. My favorite student." The blond woman in the bed next to his smiled brightly.

"That's me. Home again, home again, jiggedy jig. I told Mr. Tetch you'd be back. He said you'd be stuck in Wonderland forever."

"If Alice had her way…" An IV was dripping something into his veins. He wondered, in a vague sort of way, what it was.

"But, golly, professor, you look awful. Where've you been? Did you run into Batman? Or was it someone else?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "What about you, Harley? What are you doing here?" She held up her hands, which were swathed in bandages.

"Burned myself a little, doing something stupid."

"Did one of your bombs explode prematurely again?"

"Not quite…well…listen, Professor Crane. You want to do yourself a favor, you keep yourself in the hospital wing as long as you can."

"Why? Are you planning an esc—"

"Shh!" She laid back down and closed her eyes, in a very unconvincing imitation of sleep.

The door opened, and in came Lexy, flanked by a doctor and a security guard. The child was pale, bloody, shaking. She was wearing the guard's jacket and still hugging herself as if she'd never get warm.

"_Et tu_, Alexis, _fili mi?_ A betrayal in the end?" His voice sounded lost.

"No, it's not like that! Jonathan…" She squeezed his hand. He didn't squeeze back. Her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't know what to do. I thought…they would take care of you here…"

And we will, young lady," said the doctor. He put a hand on her shoulder. "It's time for you to go now."

"I just…I just came to say goodbye. They're taking me to Gotham Central Hospital. I can't stay here. Jonathan? Say you don't hate me." He closed his eyes. "I could visit you…"

"Don't."

Better for her not to know what she had done to him, meaning well. Better for the Scarecrow to stand alone.

--

Dr. Bartholomew stayed with his patients while Lexy walked toward the front entrance, escorted by the guard.

_You should have told him._ Her hand went to her left shoulder, where the bullet had torn through her before going into him. _He would have understood. He might have forgiven you._ Her fingers tightened, bringing tears of pain to her eyes. _You were going to crash that car into something. You're just lucky it was Arkham's front gate, and not something worse._

But it felt like a mistake, leaving him here. It felt…wrong.

"You did a good thing, bringing him here, kid," the guard said, opening the front door for her. "You could even get a medal. You've captured a dangerous escaped lunatic. You're just like Batman, kid."

"Like Batman," she repeated dully. Why hadn't she been smart enough to lie about who he really was? Why hadn't she been strong enough to get him to that clinic before she passed out?

Why hadn't she been able to save him right?

At the end of the path was a car waiting to take her to the hospital. The security guard opened the door for her. She started to take off his jacket.

"Keep it, hero. I've got more."

Lexy burst into tears.

"Please take care of him for me!" she sobbed.

"Don't worry, little girl. There's no need to cry. I'll take special care of him, personally." She read the nametag on his chest, which was eye level to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Bolton. Thank you so much."


	13. Chapter 13

Afternoon, Gotham City. Christmas Day. In the park across the street from the minimum security facility of Blackgate Prison, a group of girls skates on the pond. One of them, breathless and laughing, leaves the others and sits on a park bench to retie her laces.

She is fourteen years old, happy, warmly bundled against the cold in a baby blue jacket, hat, and gloves. Her hair, a mousy shade of brown, is just long enough to get in her eyes when it escapes her hat. She takes off the hat to trap the hair again, revealing a single defiant streak of crimson.

"Come on, Lexy," one of her friends calls. She waves and goes back to tightening her laces.

A man walks past her—tall, thin, about forty years old, limping along with the aid of a cane. She doesn't recognize him. She has never seen him standing up, or with oversized glasses altering the shape of his face. He has gained enough weight to look like a human being inside his shapeless brown overcoat, and a scarf obscures the lower half of his face. His hair, shorter than she remembers, is starting to go gray. To her, he looks old.

He almost doesn't recognize her, either. She has adapted to a new situation like a chameleon, changing her hair, her clothes, even trading in her dark makeup for sparkly pink lip gloss. But the biggest change is her smile, no longer an impish grin masking her confusion and fear, but a genuine smile of happiness. He sees her clearly for the first time and realizes that the child who was briefly his is gone now. She has become something ordinary, normal, and it's probably better for both of them this way.

He sits down next to her anyway. She glances over at him, meets his vivid blue eyes, and lets out an involuntary startled cry.

"Jonathan…Dr. Crane…you're out of the…hospital."

"I escaped. Solo." It comes out sounding harsher than he intends.

"I…I'm here with my friends." He nods. "I visited Al this morning. In prison. She's going to have a baby. Tom was the father. He's dead now." The Scarecrow nods again. He has no tears to shed for Tom. "She says they're not going to let her keep the baby." She fights to hold back tears. "Are you here to kill her?"

"No. I've spent more than enough time in that woman's company. If she ever comes to me, who knows? But I won't go after her."

Her voice shrinks to a whisper.

"Are you here to kill me?"

"Kill my own guardian angel? Never."

Hopeful: "Are you going to take me with you?"

"Would you really be willing to give up everything you have—your friends, your school, your foster family, your normal life—to live the life of an evildoer with me?" She takes his hand.

"If you asked me, I'd do it in a second."

The Scarecrow gently extracts his hand.

"I thought you had more sense than that. Besides, I'm not up to crime right now. I'm just here to enjoy Christmas in the park."

She studies his face carefully. Are those dark circles under his eyes fading bruises, or just the marks of a sleepless night? Are those crow's feet, or is he in pain right now and trying to hide it? The way he's sitting, hunched over—is it only because he's cold?

She hugs him. He may have put on weight, but he still feels thin and frail. She can feel how cold his skin is when her cheek touches his. He stiffens in surprise at the physical contact, but doesn't pull away.

"Are you taking care of yourself? Do you have friends?"

"All my friends are in Arkham."

"Do you want to come over for dinner? You shouldn't be by yourself on Christmas."

"I doubt your foster family would appreciate you bringing a supervillain to a family gathering."

"I have a boyfriend," she says, as if that would make any difference.

"Good. Spend your holiday with him."

"Jonathan, I just don't want you to be alone."

"I am alone," he says, standing, leaning heavily on his cane. "Always. It's better this way."

"But, can I at least buy you some hot chocolate?"

He doesn't tell her how tempted he is to stay with her and be loved. He doesn't tell her that her compassion is more than he deserves.

"Goodbye, Lexy." He walks away, limping, but stronger than he has been. She watches him go.

She doesn't tell him how afraid she is for him, that she can't stand the thought of him hiding somewhere, cold, hungry, and alone, or hurt by someone like the Batman, who she has come almost to hate. She doesn't tell him that she thinks she really has fallen in love with him, but she cares about him first for some reason other than romantic love.

"Goodbye," she whispers.

He looks back once. She is still watching him, alone and forlorn. He wishes he hadn't chanced to meet her today.

They both know that this goodbye is forever. Their friendship will have no chance to grow. They will never see each other again.

She will live her life.

He will live alone.

Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore."

* * *

_Author's note: Huzzah, finally, the end of the Scarecrow trilogy! Lexy pops up near the end of the Notebooks series, and Al is getting her own story called "The March Hare" (look for it later this month, probably) but this is the end of my abuse of this particular Jonathan Crane. It almost makes me sad._

_I'm a freak, you know._

_Thank you for reading, and thanks to everyone who reviewed, particularly MsBrooklyn and cocopuffs jewel, but everyone else, as well. You brighten my day!_

_3.0_


	14. Alternate Ending 1

Author's note: Huzzah! In the spirit of special edition DVDs, I present you with Night of the Scarecrow's alternate endings! Because I was quite conflicted about how to end this story. And now, for no apparent reason, I have decided to write all the other endings I considered...or at least all the ones I can clearly remember. Consider them non-canonical. But lurve them nonetheless. They do have their merits, I suppose, but I stand by the ending I chose. Do let me know if you think I ought to have chosen differently.

* * *

Outside. Fresh air for the first time in months, and he couldn't smell it. He wanted to tear off his mask…but it was too soon.

Lexy took hers off. Fool, fool. Could she make it any easier on him?

"There's a car," she said. "Should I hotwire it?"

"Do you know how?"

"Theoretically."

She smashed the window and opened the door. He readied his can of fear gas. Driving with broken legs wasn't going to be easy, but it was better than walking. He didn't have to get far.

There would be no pain for her, and only a second or two of fear. It was a better fate than he had granted to most of his associates. She would survive, and he would finally be free. Alone.

The engine came to life. Lexy cheered.

"You've done well, Lexy." She ran around to the passenger side of the car, where he was waiting. "You've done everything I could have asked and more. Thank you."

She hugged him.

Scarecrow raised the spray can.

"How could I not help you? That's what friends are for."

He hesitated.

Friends?

She let him go and saw the can pointed at her. A look of fear crossed her face, followed by hurt.

"Jonathan? Are you going to gas me?"

His finger eased off the trigger.

"No, Lexy. I want you to put this in the car where you can reach it easily. If we run into trouble, I don't want my partner unarmed." She smiled at him.

"Oh, Jonathan, I knew Al was wrong about you. Let's get you in the car." Fighting gravity, she lifted him with both arms and slid him out of the chair. This time, he was strong enough to help her.

A single gunshot from the roof made them both jump.

"That's Al," Lexy whispered. "She can hold them off, can't she?"

"With Tom to help her? Of course she can." She dropped him on the seat and bent down to get his legs inside the car.

A second gunshot. Lexy stiffened with a gasp of surprise. The Scarecrow grunted in pain as the bullet punched through his body. He looked down at his right side, where a circle of red was growing.

Ricocheted off a rib. Broken. He felt it stabbing him when he breathed. Hurt. Oh, it hurt.

Lexy was hyperventilating.

"Somebody s-sh-shot…"

"It's nothing—drive."

Something fell from the roof, landing with a crack and a splash like a water balloon filled with custard. He couldn't see what it was, but Lexy confirmed his guess when she looked at it and started to scream.

"Don't panic," he said. "I need you." Sobbing, she got in the driver's seat and put on her seatbelt. "Thompkins Clinic…Park Row…can you…"

"I know where it is."

"Good." He pressed his hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Put your foot on the brake…now put it in gear…D for drive…now headlights…there…hit the gas…"

She stomped down on the gas pedal, pressing it all the way to the floor. The car took off like a rocket, tires squealing. Lexy cried out in fear and slammed on the brakes. His head hit the dashboard with a crack.

_She'd never have handled manual,_ he thought before he blacked out.

--

Three years pass. Three years, long, and not long enough.

Jonathan Crane, now using another name, of course, owns a used bookstore in downtown Gotham. He has other ways of supplementing his income, but the store takes most of his time, and that is the way he prefers it. The truth is, he has never fully recovered from his ordeal, even with the tender care given to him by his little girl. If he misses his old life, the good times, the pleasure of fear and the riches that could be his with the snap of a finger and the release of a simple cloud of gas…well, now he is content to be surrounded by the things he loves the most: his books…and his daughter.

He has had a few customers who have recognized him, but so far there have been no blackmail attempts or threats of exposure. His former colleagues appear to be content to let him live a quiet life, although there is the fear (the _chance_, he corrects himself) that this may change.

This afternoon, as closing time nears, he is alone in the store with his sole customer. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, has developed a surprising interest in antique books. He comes in every month or so, always buying enough to keep the store in business even if there had been no other customers, although most of the time there are. Bruce Wayne is always welcome to browse the shelves, and unlike some loiterers, he is never chased out no matter how long he takes. The owner is glad to know someone who shares his own passion, who is willing to search indefinitely for just that perfect book. The money helps, of course.

Wayne has disappeared among the shelves when the door opens, admitting a woman, visible only in silhouette in the golden afternoon sunlight. The bell above the door dings pleasantly, and the man behind the desk looks up from his book, feeling benevolent and willing to hold the store open a little longer to accommodate her.

"Hello, Jonathan," she says in a very familiar voice, and he freezes in unaccustomed terror as she walks closer. He takes in every aspect of her as she moves out of the glare and into the dimmer electric light. She is tall and thin, all joints and angles, with pale brown hair slightly softer than straw and hard blue eyes magnified by glasses even thicker than the ones she wore when he saw her last. She could be his sister. But she isn't.

"Alice," he says, keeping his voice under tight control, refusing to show her just _how_ frightened he is, although he cannot hide the fact that he is afraid. He glances around, carefully, wondering if Bruce Wayne will come to his rescue if he screams for help. For all his apparent uselessness, Wayne is not a small man, or weak. But if Wayne is still in the store, he is not within sight and maybe not even within earshot.

"How've you been?" says Al. She looks unarmed and harmless. He doesn't trust that, not a bit.

"What do you want?"

"You took my child from me," she says, losing all traces of friendliness or civility, leaning across his desk with an unmistakable look of hatred in her eyes. "I can't forgive that."

"I've never hurt her," he says. "And she came with me because she wanted to. And she _stayed_ with me because she wanted to." Her hands dart out to grab the front of his shirt and drag him across the desk to her. At first he flinches from her touch. Then he reaches up and carefully pries her hands away from his clothing, meeting her eyes with a cool glare. They both realize at the same moment that she is not strong enough to fight him now—and that he _is_ strong enough to fight her. "I've never hurt her," he repeats, enunciating clearly. She frowns sullenly and jerks her hands out of his.

"Where is she now?"

"At school, of course. Do you think I'm monster enough to deny her an education? She's going to make the honor roll again this semester," he says with a nasty smirk. Al folds her arms across her chest. She could just be acting like a petulant child, but he doesn't miss the fact that she could be going for a concealed weapon. He takes a step back, knowing that if she is, it's probably going to be the switchblade—there's a reason why she calls it Lucky. If she'd had it on her the night he grabbed her, none of this ever would have happened.

"School should have ended two hours ago."

"She's the lead in the school play, Al. She stays late every day to rehearse. Have you heard her sing? She's really gotten quite good."

"Shut up," Al snarls. He takes another step back, not quite intimidated by her, but not quite ready to get into a fistfight with her, either. He still feels twinges in his legs and his left arm when the weather is bad.

"Are you just here to threaten me, or are you going to tell me what you really want?" he asks, taking a perverse delight in mocking her. He has learned as much from her about humiliation as she has learned from him about fear.

"I want my child." She makes it a demand and not a request, but something in her eyes looks wistful. He decides not to pity her.

"She doesn't want you."

"I want to _see_ her."

_"She doesn't want to see you._"

Rage flashes across Al's face, and Jonathan hastily takes another step away from her. Taunting her is one thing; goading her into fury is quite another matter.

"God damn it, Crane!" Her voice echoes weirdly through the empty bookstore. The lack of a response tells him that Wayne has already gone, and now that he realizes he is actually alone with the madwoman, he wishes rather fervently that he had locked the door when he had the chance.

"_I_ didn't turn her against you. Losing her was your own doing. You know it was."

"Fuck you!" The expression is random, ugly. It feels completely out of place. He gives her a look like a teacher sorely disappointed in his student.

"Strange, you like to say that, but it's the one thing you never did to me." This is the moment that most surprises him—Al bursts into tears.

"Have you slept with her?" she demands, and her voice makes him think of a hysterical mother tiger.

He stares at her, momentarily at a loss for words.

He could tell her that at the age of fourteen, Lexy insisted most vehemently that she was in love with him. He doesn't.

He could tell her that Lexy has been dating a boy in her class for almost a year now, and that she is too madly in love with that boy to even look at anyone else. He doesn't.

He could tell her that the little girl has grown into a very beautiful young woman, and no human being could fail to notice her, especially not someone as close to her as he is. He doesn't.

Instead, he tells her the absolute truth, which he knows will hurt her more than anything else.

"Of course not. She's my daughter." Then he decides to soften the blow, just a little. "She's not my Starling or my Lolita. She's just my child."

"And are you really taking care of her?" she asks, still weeping.

"At least as much as she takes care of me."

"You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?" She slugs him once, splitting his lip and bruising her own hand. He tenses, expecting a true physical confrontation, fully prepared to fight her off by whatever means necessary, but she turns and stalks out of the store, leaving him a little shaken, but mostly unharmed, much to his surprise. The bell jangles harshly against the door, and then she is gone. Jonathan reaches into his pocket for the keys.

"Everything all right?" says a deep voice behind him. He whirls around, nearly taking off Bruce Wayne's head with a well-practiced but long-unused strike, pulled at the last second to clear the air above the other man's head. Wayne steps back, hands raised, with a genial smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"No problem, Mr. Wayne." He really means it. There is nothing wrong here now. Or, at least, there will be nothing to worry him once Lexy gets home.

"I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation, and I thought I should stick around, just in case. Who was she? An old flame?"

"Close enough," says the Scarecrow. "She is the mother of my child."

* * *

A.N.: This ending would have left the series open for yet another sequel, in which Lexy takes over the Scarecrow's persona without her adoptive father's knowledge. That would have been fun, but since I'm not a big fan of sequels I decided to end the series when I had the chance. Besides, I'm not sure I'm up to the icky paradox of a father/daughter relationship with blatant sexual interest. 


	15. Alternate Ending 2

A.N.: If you don't want to read through the whole scene again, _(x_) indicates where the storyline begins to skew. Woo.

* * *

Outside. Fresh air for the first time in months, and he couldn't smell it. He wanted to tear off his mask…but it was too soon.

Lexy took hers off. Fool, fool. Could she make it any easier on him?

"There's a car," she said. "Should I hotwire it?"

"Do you know how?"

"Theoretically."

She smashed the window and opened the door. He readied his can of fear gas. Driving with broken legs wasn't going to be easy, but it was better than walking. He didn't have to get far.

There would be no pain for her, and only a second or two of fear. It was a better fate than he had granted to most of his associates. She would survive, and he would finally be free. Alone.

The engine came to life. Lexy cheered.

"You've done well, Lexy." She ran around to the passenger side of the car, where he was waiting. "You've done everything I could have asked and more. Thank you."

She hugged him.

Scarecrow raised the spray can.

"How could I not help you? That's what friends are for."

He hesitated.

Friends?

She let him go and saw the can pointed at her. A look of fear crossed her face, followed by hurt.

"Jonathan? Are you going to gas me?"

His finger eased off the trigger.

"No, Lexy. I want you to put this in the car where you can reach it easily. If we run into trouble, I don't want my partner unarmed." She smiled at him.

"Oh, Jonathan, I knew Al was wrong about you. Let's get you in the car." Fighting gravity, she lifted him with both arms and slid him out of the chair. This time, he was strong enough to help her.

A single gunshot from the roof made them both jump.

"That's Al," Lexy whispered. "She can hold them off, can't she?"

"With Tom to help her? Of course she can." She dropped him on the seat and bent down to get his legs inside the car.

A second gunshot. Lexy stiffened with a gasp of surprise.

_(x)_

"Oh—I—" She looked up at him, eyes wide with horror. Then she fell forward, sprawling across his lap, and he saw the gaping entrance wound in her back.

"Lexy?" He felt her clutching at his shirt, grasping frantically. He put his arms around her. "Don't…don't worry, Lexy. Don't be afraid."

She shuddered once, and gasped. He could barely make out her words: "…things more frightening…"

She didn't speak again. She just went limp in his arms. He held her until she stopped breathing. And then he still didn't let her go.

"That's…not fair," he said stupidly. _I cared about her._ For the first time in his _life_ he had actually cared for another person who had cared for him in return—not thirty seconds ago he had actually made the _choice_ not to hurt her—he had damn well decided to give her exactly what she wanted and take her with him, as his partner, as his child—he—yes, he had been damn near prepared to give her his _love_—and now he was holding her rapidly cooling _corpse_ in his arms—and _it was not fair!_

It was not fair.

--

When the Scarecrow returned to Arkham, a few of the other patients noticed a slight difference in him. Though he had always been reluctant to join in any social activities, now his attitude was positively frosty towards anyone who attempted to engage him. Most of them attributed the little changes in his attitudes to the trauma he had obviously suffered, although he never quite explained to any of them just what it was that had put him in those casts.

When he had recovered enough to walk with crutches, the Mad Hatter worked up the nerve to ask him what had happened. Jervis Tetch never told anyone just what the Scarecrow revealed, but a few days later he let slip an ill-conceived comment about a child with a name similar to the one he so admired—a comment that, perhaps, only another pedophile could truly have appreciated.

The Mad Hatter suffered a concussion and a broken nose, and the Scarecrow had his crutches taken away.

No one else asked him any personal questions. Jonathan Crane, after all, was not a man who invited friendship, even from the crazies.

* * *

A.N.: This ending felt really _right_ to me, but it made me feel all sad. I mean, the whole point of this story was for something good to happen to him for a change. 


	16. Alternate Ending 3

A.N.: _(x)_ marks the spot. Yarrg.

* * *

Outside. Fresh air for the first time in months, and he couldn't smell it. He wanted to tear off his mask…but it was too soon.

Lexy took hers off. Fool, fool. Could she make it any easier on him?

"There's a car," she said. "Should I hotwire it?"

"Do you know how?"

"Theoretically."

She smashed the window and opened the door. He readied his can of fear gas. Driving with broken legs wasn't going to be easy, but it was better than walking. He didn't have to get far.

There would be no pain for her, and only a second or two of fear. It was a better fate than he had granted to most of his associates. She would survive, and he would finally be free. Alone.

The engine came to life. Lexy cheered.

"You've done well, Lexy." She ran around to the passenger side of the car, where he was waiting. "You've done everything I could have asked and more. Thank you."

She hugged him.

Scarecrow raised the spray can.

"How could I not help you? That's what friends are for."

He hesitated.

Friends?

She let him go and saw the can pointed at her. A look of fear crossed her face, followed by hurt.

_(x)_

He pulled the trigger.

She let out a single agonized wail before she collapsed, staring up at the night sky with glazed green eyes that saw nothing of the real world.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly, "but what did you really expect?"

Now he pulled off his mask, taking a deep breath of the cool Gotham air, heavy with the scent of too much industry and too much humanity, sharp with the undercurrents of fear and darkness that he had always loved so much. This was his city. He was back.

A gunshot from the roof broke the still silence, and he flinched as the bullet went whizzing uncomfortably close to his ear. Lexy moaned faintly, and he spared a fraction of a second to wonder what frightened her most about the sound of a gun, and why.

He didn't waste time looking up at the roof, when he knew he couldn't see clearly as far as his own feet. He rolled the wheelchair around to the other side of the car, putting at least that much protection between himself and the shooter. His movement was agonizingly slow, leaving him winded before he even made it halfway to his destination. It was going to take him an eternity to regain what he had lost, if he had that chance at all.

He expected another bullet to find him at any moment, but it never came. When he made it to the safe spot, he looked up at the roof just in time to see something fall. The indistinct form could only be one thing, of course. He knew the motions of a person falling to his doom. He knew the sound of mortal fear, no matter how muffled and distant it may be. The only question was, who?

There was a sickening crack as the body hit the ground. All detectable signs of life evaporated. It was too heavy to be _her_, not heavy enough to be the bodyguard. That meant that _she _was probably the one with the gun. He looked up at the roof again, wondering if she was up there now, looking down at him. Or perhaps she was running down the stairs, eager to take him at close range. He had no way of knowing…but he didn't _think_ she was in good enough shape to run.

He waved, just in case she was watching.

"See you around, Al." He forced her real name from his mouth, not even the formal Alice but the familiar _Al_ that he had never had any reason to speak before. She couldn't hear him, but if she had, she would have recognized his victory in that single short syllable. She would have been furious at the knowledge that she had lost her power over him.

He was himself again.

He wrenched open the car door and dragged himself painfully into the driver's seat. It hurt—everything hurt—but it was not unbearable. Not anymore.

He was back.

He glanced at the child passed out on the sidewalk, and his expression softened for just a moment.

"You are a good kid," he said, and if there was no guilt in his voice, there was a certain amount of tenderness that would have been utterly foreign to him a year ago. Perhaps he had learned something from her. She would almost certainly have learned something from him.

He wished her luck.

And then, trembling with exertion, he used his hands to move his foot to the gas pedal.

And he drove away.

Into the night.

Back to Gotham.

* * *

A.N.: This ending felt the most realistic. But I guess some vestige of my blackened little soul still holds some kind of optimism. I don't know why or how. Oh, well. I'll just go do the dance of happiness now, I guess. 


End file.
